Waiting
by melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Set just after PP3 - when the waiting stops and the inevitable happens.


What I said to Amy wasn't exactly true when she asked me if I had gotten back together with Jesse. As far as she knew, yes, he was still living with his girlfriend and their cat. That was as much as any of the Bellas knew - except me. After the phone call a few weeks ago, I know better.

Our breakup wasn't anything dramatic or traumatic, it was just a breakup. Both of us saw it coming. I was in New York, he was in LA, and the lasting quality of long distance relationships is a total myth. We tried for a little while. We said that we loved each other enough to make it last, whatever that meant. It sounds cheesy, looking back. But I had meant it at the time, truly and genuinely. Love makes you stupid.

It also makes you blind, and when space filtered in and we started spending time apart, I think we both started to realize that it wouldn't work. Back in college, we were so wrapped up in each other that our future together seemed inevitable. But when times changed and we moved across the country from one another, the only inevitable thing was our separation. It sucked.

I was the one who brought it up, but it was mutual. We both agreed it wasn't working and we were both happy in our respective cities. I wasn't going to move from the producer job I had just landed (if only I'd known how shitty it would become) and he wasn't going to move from California. Neither of us wanted the other to uproot, anyway. The only logical thing to do was go our separate ways, no matter how much it hurt.

I always told myself that I'd never be the type of girl to cry herself to sleep over a guy. That mindset lasted until the breakup; I should have expected as much. Jesse had more of a hold on my heart than I'd ever let anyone have before. It was almost inhuman, how much he made me feel. It wasn't fair. I never gave him permission, those were just the shoes he filled. And he was good at it. He was so good at being my boyfriend. I always hoped I was just as good of a girlfriend to him, but had a feeling I might not have been.

I forced myself to forget details about him, or at least I told myself that's what I was doing. When Amy asked when his birthday was so she could put it on our calendar, I pretended not to know. When Chloe asked me his little sister's name because she couldn't place it, I shrugged even though the spunky brunette's face popped around in my brain like a Windows screensaver. Jazzy, short for Jasmine. She was the first kid I ever liked.

But by the time he called me randomly in the middle of the night on a Tuesday, I had stopped thinking about him so much. It had been months since our breakup - actually, almost a year. He still crossed my mind every now and then, like when I'd see a trailer for a movie that I knew he'd like. Or when I heard Feels Like The First Time on the radio - that stupid, stupid song. I let myself think about him then. His brown eyes, the way his hair never laid the way he wanted. How he always had to be doing something with his hands. The freckles on his stomach that formed a perfect triangle. Stupid stuff like that.

I always felt silly because of it. And I always wondered if he thought about me the same way I thought about him. That question was answered on the night my phone rang with a contact I thought I'd never see again. I debated whether or not to answer, calculating what time it was in LA and if he was drunk dialing me or not. I didn't want to humiliate myself by answering and hearing his girlfriend on the other line, giggling and telling him to hang up. But at the same time, I couldn't resist the prospect of hearing his voice.

So, I picked up and said, "Hello?"

He let out a little sound of relief, one that made it easy to picture his easy smile. "Hey, Bec," he said. "It's Jess… Jesse."

"I know," I said quietly. "You're still in my phone."

"Oh," he said. "Right."

There was a pocket of silence, one that I didn't know what to do with. _He_ called _me_. He obviously had something to say but didn't know how to say it, so I tried to be patient and give him time. But then the moments started to seem like hours, and I couldn't handle the heavy, expectant silence anymore. "Did you need something?" I asked, trying to keep my tone even.

"Sorry," he said. "I probably woke you up. And now I'm not even... I shouldn't have called, I'm sorry. It was stupid. I… I'll talk to you another time."

"You won't, though," I pointed out. "You called now. Why?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, like he was calculating it. "Me and Yara broke up," he said.

"Oh," I replied, blinking hard like I might have made up the words myself. "Okay."

"I just wanted you to know."

"Okay…" I said, eyebrows furrowed.

There was another beat of silence, this one a bit uncomfortable. I think he wanted me to say something, to fill the space, but I had no idea what to put there. He was the one good with words, not me. "So, yeah," he finished.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "It warranted you calling me in the middle of the night, huh?"

"Well, I mean… kind of," he continued. "It kind of had to deal with you."

"What?"

"Mine and Yara's breakup had a lot to do with you," he clarified.

Then, I was even more confused. "What?" I repeated. "Why?"

He made another small sound, one that I couldn't decipher. "I'm still holding out on you," he said. "On us, I guess. I can't help it. Yara could see it, I just didn't wanna… I don't know." He sighed. "I'm waiting for you, Becs. I don't know how to stop."

I felt like I'd been punched in the chest with a closed fist, sent stumbling backwards. His words held so much weight, so much heart, that I knew there was no way they could be empty. He meant everything he was saying, no matter how much he shouldn't. "Jess," I said, letting the 's' sound of his name linger. "We already… it didn't work."

"I know," he had said, resigning. "I know."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

…

That was two weeks ago. Since then, we haven't spoken. Everything has gone back to the way it was before, except I can't stop thinking about that idiot. My idiot. My ex-idiot. Even while the Bellas and I are across the ocean in Europe, performing together again after years of being apart, he's still on my mind. I've been covert about it this time, though. I've been doing my best not to seem preoccupied, because the last thing I need is all of them hounding me with questions.

I don't know how Jesse finds his way into my mind. Our days are beyond busy, we have show after show, and I barely get any time to myself. But in typical Jesse fashion, he makes his presence known in the smallest of ways that turn out to be the biggest. In the dressing room while everyone is getting made up, I'll dig up a memory of him barging in during our senior year just to sit and talk to me as Cynthia Rose did my hair. The girls stopped minding after the first couple times; he fit in like he was one of us. That was a special talent of his - he could assimilate anywhere. I assume he still can. As I sit in front of the lit mirror, I can't help but picture him at my side, drumming a beat on my thigh, talking about how amazing I'm gonna be on stage. He always meant what he said, too. That was the best part. I always knew his excitement was genuine.

"Beca, hello? Beca?"

I snap back to reality after hearing Chloe's voice, blinking hard as her face is inches away from mine. I must have been more zoned out than I thought. "What?" I say. "Sorry."

"We're going on in like, five. You're done. You've just been sitting there staring. Are you okay?"

"I'm good," I say, hopping up from the chair and adjusting my striped shirt. "Yeah, I'm great. Let's go."

…

The fact that we all got separate rooms on this tour is an anomaly, for sure. We're used to cramming into one or two beds, and usually I wake up either on the floor or with someone's feet in my face. I was thankful at first for the solitude, but now everything is too quiet and my mind is too busy. Luckily, a knock on the door comes just in time.

"Who is it?" I call from where I'm lying diagonally across the bed.

"Your best friend in the world!" Amy returns.

"Come in," I say quietly, eyes still trained on the ceiling as the door opens and she makes her presence known. "What's up?" I say.

"How long have you been bedridden?" she asks. "I saw a few of the tarts in the lobby and they said they tried your room but no one answered. Assumed you were getting some European action."

I scoff and say, "No, I must've been asleep."

I wasn't sleeping; that's a baldfaced lie. The truth is that I heard the knock but pretended that I didn't, keeping extremely quiet until the footsteps faded down the hall. I'm not up for much more social interaction than what I'm getting right now with Amy. "Well, what's wrong then?" she prompts. "Why _aren't_ you getting some European action?" She eyes the chocolate that's been acting as my bedmate. "Well, besides your friend Cadbury here."

I try to muster a laugh and a shrug, and they come as a strange combination. "I'm fine," I say. "Just PMS."

She eyes me, and I know she sees through the lie. She has an innate ability for that, which is annoying on the surface but always helpful in the long-run. Still, I resent it. "Liar," she says. "We're synced. Aunt Flo isn't due for another two-and-a-half weeks. So, 'fess up. What's got your bloomers in a bunch?"

"It really doesn't matter," I say, trying to steer clear of the issue.

"You know I can read your mind, Beca," she says. "We've been best friends for years. So, we can either talk about your problems like adults or you can sit here and pretend that you're not wallowing over Jesse. But one way is much easier than the other."

I sit up out of pure shock. "What?" I spit. "How do you… how?"

"Like I said, mind-reader," she explains. I narrow my eyes - she's not the only one with the lie-detector ability. "Okay!" she caves, before much time can pass. "I unlocked your phone to play Candy Crush and your call log was open. His contact was at the top of the list."

"Amy!" I scold, but I'm halfway grateful she found out on her own. That makes my explanation way less clunky and difficult.

"Well!" she says. "I was waiting for you to bring it up or seem especially sulky. I wasn't going to let it free in front of everyone! I have _some_ tact."

"Yeah, where?" I grumble.

"So, tell me what's up," she says. "Did he send you a wedding invite and you're all surly about it?"

"No," I say. "No, it wasn't like that."

"Then what _was_ it like?"

I sigh deeply and cross my legs, staring down at my socked feet. I furrow my eyebrows and twine my fingers together, observing the pinky nails - Jesse would always poke fun at how small they are. "It wasn't a very long conversation," I say.

"A minute and 44 seconds," Amy fills in.

I shoot her a look. "You're on the border of creepy," I say. She just shrugs. "Well, it wasn't long."

"Why? Why are you making me scrape this information out of you?"

I let out another long, dramatic sigh. "He said he's not over me," I say. "And that's why he and his ex broke up. Because of me, basically. And… I don't know. That's all he said, that he's still waiting for me and he doesn't know how to stop." I cover my face with my hands and Amy makes a happy, incredulous sound. "What the hell?" I murmur.

"He's waiting for you and you're waiting for him!" she cheers. "It's perfect."

"What are you talking about?" I say, lifting my head to shake it. "I'm not waiting for him. We've been over for a long time."

"Oh, come on, Beca," she says.

"I won't 'come on' anything," I say. "I'm not waiting for him. I never was."

"And that's why you haven't been on a single date since you two broke up?" she says, raising her eyebrows. "Makes a lot of sense."

"I've been busy with work," I say, knowing it's a hollow excuse.

"And busy on the weekends, and days off, and nights when you stay home alone in the apartment and binge-watch _Drag Race_…" She presses her lips together. "Yeah, really busy."

"Well, it's not like there's a ton of men knocking down my door," I say.

"There would be if you left the house!" she says. "But you don't, because you're subconsciously waiting for Jesse."

"I am not," I argue. "I'm over him. I'm past being over him. The call was totally random, and it's the only reason I'm thinking about him. He hasn't crossed my mind for like, months."

"Yeah," Amy says. "Sure."

I don't know why I insist on lying to her. Maybe because lying to myself hasn't yet worked.

…

The offer from Khaled happens. The hostage situation happens - though I'm still in some disbelief over that. And much to my surprise, the Bellas accept everything that I was willing to turn down in the event that they felt differently about it. They almost seem to want it for me more than I want it for myself, at least right now. But their enthusiasm forces mine to the surface, and I begin to think that a life like the one I've been awarded might be something that I can look forward to and someday, get used to.

The offer happens after my final performance with the Bellas. I'm spending a rare moment alone and they've all just left my room after showering me with congratulations and champagne - for Amy, literally. My skin is still sticky from how explosive the bottle was, but I can't find it within myself to be upset. We had a fun night, all of us together. Being with them like that is something that I might not ever get back, at least not in the same context. But I wouldn't let myself be sad about it. I wouldn't let myself do anything but live in the moment, and it worked in my favor. By the time they leave, I'm exhausted and ready to sleep for hours on end. But instead, I get a formal email that I can't resist reading right away.

It's from Khaled's representative, and they want to get me started on an album immediately. I'll have complete authority over the production, songwriting, mixing, everything. It's a dream come true - it's a new dream tied with my old one. It's everything I hoped for back when I thought it would never happen. In this moment, on a hotel bed damp with champagne, the next stepping stone in my life has made itself pretty clear. I have no choice but to accept - I don't want to do anything but accept. I don't even consider the fact that answering right away might look a little desperate; I'm fine with being desperate. I'm great with being desperate. I just want my spot secured and for once, I want my enthusiasm noted. I've been given the opportunity of a lifetime, and they want me. The only constituent is that I'll have to move to LA as soon as possible, and at first that makes a pit grow in my stomach. Uprooting myself all over again. A huge dose of change. A brand new lifestyle along with new scenery and new people.

But then, the thought of new people - or rather, a new person - isn't all that negative. I know one single person who lives in LA, and he happens to be the newly single person who called me the other night to tell me that he's waiting for me.

…

"Oh, my gosh. Yes. Yes! You have to call him."

"No, I'm not doing that," I say, brushing Chloe off. Amy had told her about the phone call between me and Jesse, and now all of the Bellas know that I'm moving to LA. So, Chloe being Chloe, put two and two together and has ended up in my apartment as I pack the last of my things.

"Why? Give me one solid reason and I'll get off your back."

"Because!" I say, throwing my hands up.

"Because why?"

"Because… because," I say. "He didn't actually expect anything to come of it. It was just a… heat of the moment type thing."

"Oh, so Jesse Swanson was not expecting a movie-like reaction to his movie-like declaration? Sounds _very_ much like Jesse Swanson," she says sarcastically, adding an eye-roll, too.

"You have it all wrong," I tell her.

"I never have things like this 'all wrong,'" she argues. "And you know it. You're moving to his _city_, Beca. You need to call him. You'll regret it for the rest of your life if you don't do it."

"That's a little dramatic."

"It's really not," she says matter-of-factly. "At all. If you don't call him by tomorrow, I'm going to do it for you."

"You will not," I say.

"You're right," she acquiesces. "But I will be very, very disappointed in you."

"Okay, mom."

"Beca, I'm serious!" Chloe shrills. "Imagine what you'll be giving up if you don't reach out. You guys were _perfect_ for each other. And you're just gonna let that go to waste because… of what? Pride?"

"It's not pride."

"Then what is it?"

"Logic? Common sense? Two things you seem to lack?"

"Don't lash out at me 'cause you're mad at yourself," she says, crossing her arms while tipping her chin up. "I'm gonna leave now, because you're getting nasty. You can figure this out on your own. See if I care."

"You definitely care."

"So, maybe I do. But I'm not gonna stay here and get my head bitten off 'cause you know I'm right!"

Chloe's words sit with me for the rest of the night. As I'm lying on my mattress that's on the floor because my bed frame is already on the way to LA, I do know she's right. I can't _not_ call him, but I can't pick up the phone, either. Too much time has passed. I didn't say the right thing in the moment. By now, he's probably forgotten all about it.

But what if he hasn't? I can't go the rest of my life not knowing. If I don't call, I'm going to spend every night in the foreseeable future just like this, obsessing over what he could be thinking. If he wished I would've called. If he regretted dialing my number at all. No matter the outcome, I have to try. Not because Amy told me to, or because Chloe did, but because I want to. Because for once, I'm not going to let my stubbornness take control. I won't allow it to lose me the best romantic relationship I've ever had, the one I wanted to keep forever.

So, lying in the dark with my body curled into a ball, I press his contact and wait for the phone to ring. Once it starts, I almost hang up but I resist the urge. Instead, I pinch my eyes shut and wait for his voice that I know will come. "Hello?" he says - curious and bright.

"Hey, Jess," I say tentatively. I debate whether or not to say 'it's me,' and end up staying quiet. He knows who it is.

"Hey," he says. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," I say, blinking slowly. "Everything's… great."

"Oh," he says. "Good."

There's a pause where he should ask why I'm calling, but since it's Jesse, he won't. He'll wait for me to tell him myself; he's always given me time and grace, always so patient with me when others sometimes aren't. "I just wanted to know," I say, and hear my voice shake. I let it, though. For once, I let myself be. Because with him, I can. "Are you still waiting?"

I hear his smile like I've always been able to. A small exhale, a gust of air. Just enough to allow me to picture it through the darkness. "For you, yeah," he says. "Always."

I smile, too. I can't help it, as I close my eyes and let a rush of emotion flow through my body. Every inch of it, it seems. I realize there was never a time when he didn't have this hold over me. It never went away. I tried to make it disappear, but something this strong doesn't let go that easily. "Okay," I say softly.

"Okay…" he says, a little confused.

I smile harder and pinch my eyes shut tighter. "I'm calling to tell you that…" I take a deep breath, then feel innately calm. The calmness tells me this is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, exactly who I should be talking to, the exact words I should be saying. "You don't have to wait anymore."


End file.
